Annie Blake: 2 Poems
TO KILL WITH A VIEW
“Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand and place it in my side, and do not be unbelieving but believing” (John 20:24-29)
/ and then we / i heard he was dead / confirmed i would birth his child / and i didn’t have
the time for his sad news / how i would slip through telephone wires / benign and narrow-
winged / my husband cried that night / but i was my mother then / spun the turntable round
and walked out of my house / for what crucifies me praises the other / for at least i admit
that consciousness is a torn flap of the eye / the door of tom and the midnight garden /
the leaves that lift in the light / wounds like hammocks / my shadow / she hits me when she’s
angry / and keeps asking me / you say you’re sad / but you don’t look sad / i gave
her a chocolate biscuit and shut her up / a marble dropped from the ceiling onto the tiles in
the middle of the night /
/ and a bronzed boy / i gave him two lumps of bread / so he could move before he was molten
and molded / ammunition for the war / how the youth are fed and cleaver-clothed / morals
like hitler and he gave me a window to crawl through / i always panic in an elevator / he
skinned me / like chicken breast to avoid oil roasting in the tray / will i turn bimbo or banana
blonde / banana palm / leafy fronds and the phallus /
/ white or the black sheep / block of wool frays like hay / i call for a dentist /
for it’s usually more affectless to assume things / are men / their unassuming conjectures /
portioned on a table so i have something new to chew / how much i avoid 2-d animations /
but my husband is an earth-worker / his wife was shadow-dark and young / milk-drawn
out of a well / she had so many children and i counted them all /
/ watching cartoons when i wasn’t very young / deep regressions and how often i abscess
of caves and small closed up places / i can’t value living above ground / acrophobia /
experience and reflection occupy two rooms in my mind / but dissociation / and when all
these women / pantomime along / i secretly skirt my four walls / feeling squashed
and hyperventilation / dysfunction of vestibular apparatus / like the midday grocery store /
MY FATHER DRANK GOD LIKE LIQUOR
for my husband, my children
/ washing the / ineffable / of under the floor / scratching like i’m scrubbing / he told me i
was going to die in one full stroke / like lightning sweeps / when i think and write / hell
and lightning are concomitant / when the sky cracks open for clouds / sponges / and god
wrings them out / my aegis and the one who dreams for me /
/ falling through a tunnel / it’s not the word itself / but associations / eating a scroll
through the middle / you cannot have a whole body without a navel / pick through each word
until you can eat the whole story / till you get to the back pastry / posterior of a person /
where you carry so heavy your posture starts to bend / but my grandfather controlled women /
left them my house after i died / left it to his son / but i was never permitted to sell it / or re-
marry / his deus ex machina /
/ but she was not unfaithful / just inchoate / and all servants eventually become cold / so i
sojourned / went out into the balcony / like a mother’s pouch / because hanging is not
exactly falling through /
/ i lived with a man / one day he got rid of some of his clothes / a wardrobe / ghosts in
basement boxes / when i see them in the cupboard or that of my body / is interrupted / people
are drawers / stored like child chocolate and then even fish / when i lived with my
grandmother / i used to climb a ladder to hang clothes on the roof / animism / words and
clothes flapping / on the mount of olives /
/ we couldn’t afford to cobblestone the driveway or tessellate the porch / there was gravel
everywhere / scripture or a prescription / grit between my teeth / before bedtime / i spend
a long time picking up loose ends / bits of spaghetti from under the kitchen table / squashed
pumpkin and potato /
/ then gravel popping like popcorn / and then there was a storm and in our house / the wind
and the light washed over me / transduction of cardboard / my template body / chaos bag /
bone chilled for tomorrow’s soup / the smell of sweat or pepper / sleepless breath / heavy
mist and yesterday’s liquor /
/ because my mother / to save money / used to sell eggs by the dozen / but now there is no
heaven / / she should have eaten and fed me instead /
Annie Blake (BTeach, GDipEd) is a divergent thinker, a wife and mother of five children. She commenced school as an EAL student and was raised and, continues to live in a multicultural and industrial location in the West of Melbourne. She enjoys experimenting with Blanco’s Symmetrical and Asymmetrical Logic to explore consciousness and the surreal and phantasmagorical nature of unconscious material. A 4x Pushcart Prize nominee and Best of the Net nominee, her work can be found in Grimoire Magazine, The Slag Reivew, 45th Parallel, North of Oxford, and much more.